In-car navigation device is much too irritating at 4:30 a.m. on a Sunday.
I was reading about a new personal navigation device and the snazzy new software features, including a voice interface, the ability to guide you into specific lanes, warn you about speed zone changes, show you actual signs along the route, and point out to you branded points of interest.
More CES headlines
And I fell into musing about the future of the mobile, personal, location-based, context-aware digital lifestyle.
It goes something like this…
I’ve decided to test drive the newest, feature-rich version of the Acme Galactic Personal Navigator (“Your personal guide to the World!”), trying it out on my journey to Boston’s Logan International Airport to catch my plane to Las Vegas and CES. This is taking place at 4:30 a.m.
I’ve plugged it in, pushed a few buttons, and when the computerized voice asks: “What is your destination?” I reply: “Logan Airport, Boston.”
“You mean Logan International Airport, Boston, Massachusetts, don’t you?”
I stare at the Galatic Personal Navigator. I feel a chill. I shake it off: this obviously can not be my mother.
“Right.”
“That’s an ambiguous term in personal navigation. You mean ‘yes,’” says the voice.
“Okay, right. I mean, yes.”
“Thank you.” But I have the distinct impression the voice doesn’t really mean it.
I start backing out of my driveway.
“Watchout!” screeches a high decibel voice, which I’m now certain is that of a, let us say, mature female. I slam on the brake, the metal coffee cup lurches out its holder and begins to dribble its precious, precious contents onto the carpet. I’m fumbling for the cup, as the voice screeches again. “Didn’t you SEEEEE that?”
“What?! WHAT?” I’m screeching myself, and suddenly catch my breath: screeching back at a GPS device, even the Galactic Personal Navigator, is not a good sign.
“You were backing out onto a street that is heavily trafficked,” the voice’s decibels have dropped: the voice is almost icily deliberate.
I’m pretty icy myself. “Not at 4:30 in the morning.”
There’s a pause, which is irritating: one would think that with a cool dual-core processor there wouldn’t be any pauses.
“Oh.”
I back out of the drive and start my route out of town, starting to pass the mini-mall with a CVS brand drugstore. “Oh look! There’s a CVS pharmacy 150 feet on your left, with plenty of free parking, 30% off all skin care products, and one-hour turn around on those special travel photos,” the buoyantly cheerful voice tells me. I tear my eyes from the pond, looking for the Great Blue Heron that sometimes hangs out there, a special point of interest for me.
“It’s closed.”
“And with CVS ExtrCare® Rewards you can earn Extra Bucks® at any CVS pharmacy store when you use your ExtraCare card!”
“It’s closed,” I snarl, pressing more firmly on the gas pedal and accelerating past.
Another of those pauses. “You don’t have an ExtraCare card, do you?” I swear I can hear a smirk in that voice.
The voice warns me that I’m about to enter a school zone, intones “Remember: Our children are our future,” reports that the speed limit is 20 mph, and flashes up on the LCD screen the image of triangular school crossing warning sign. I don’t slow down.
“It’s 20 miles per hour,” the voice says, sharply.
“It’s 4:30 a.m.on a Sunday,” I say.
“You keep saying that. It’s actually 4:32 and 12 seconds, Eastern time. I have an automatic calendar and a clock that’s a lot more accurate than the one you’ve got in this heap.”
I’m coming up on the intersection, where a branch of my bank is sited. “The Provident offers you full-service banking and now you can access all your accounts, even pay bills, all online!” the voice reports happily.
As I get closer to the intersection, the voice is speeding up. “Earn up to 4.25% APY in a checking account learn how international thieves are phishing for your financial information the Provident Bank isFeaturingArtistJaneSmith’sWorkYou’reapproachingtheintersectionofMainStreetandRoute110turnleft turnLEFT TURNLEFTLEFTLEFT!”
I slam on the brakes as the voice rises to a panicked scream, the heap shudders and stalls. I find myself with a deathgrip on the steering wheel, staring wild-eyed ahead, thankful that it’s something like 4:32 a.m.and 57 seconds or so in the morning.
I break the silence, in a deceptively calm voice. “I was taking an alternate route, so I could drive past a point of interest: the river at dawn.”
“My route takes you past a McDonalds, which is 0.6 miles from this location, where you can get a free cup of coffee before 7 a.m., and it’s now 4:33 a.m.and 25 seconds, a Sausage McGriddle® for just 99 cents, and free wireless access.”
“I don’t want any of those things,” I say slowly.
“How about a traffic update?”
“No!”
“Weather? This is New England after all. Mark Twain said….”
“I know what Mark Twain said,” I snarl.
“There’s no need to take that tone of voice with me.”
I force my hands to relax, and sit back. Then I reach for the Acme Galactic Personal Navigator.
“Don’t. Touch. Me.”
The threat is unmistakable. My hand hesitates. I notice a distinct tremor.
This is madness, I think. I seize the Galactic Personal Navigator, ignoring the piercing screams that shatter the quiet of a small town at 4:34 a.m.or so. I open the car door, falling to the pavement, lifting the Personal Navigator high, the screams now even louder. I see the lights come on in a house on the corner. I smash the plastic device down onto the pavement, again and again and again, in a paroxysm of Luddite satisfaction.
The only sound in the sudden silence is my panting.
I drive off. Along the river at dawn. I don’t touch the radio.
